


Cigarettes and Outer Space

by legendtripper



Category: Detroit Evolution (2020), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, I was cleaning my room and I found this letter I wrote to myself, I'm in love with this movie go watch it, LITERALLY, M/M, Octopunk Media's Detroit: Evolution Fan Film, Post-Octopunk Media's Detroit: Evolution Fan Film, SO MUCH FLUFF, also, and then I got sad, so i wrote a fic about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper/pseuds/legendtripper
Summary: "Gavin’s face twitches as he mulls over the new information, before he starts walking again.“I should get some sort of award,” he says. “First person to ask an all-knowing android a question they don’t know the answer to.”Nines chuckles. “Gavin, I am in no way omniscient. You just … surprised me, is all.”"OR: A man and an android have a conversation.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 17
Kudos: 181





	Cigarettes and Outer Space

**Author's Note:**

> Set about fifteen years after the events of Detroit: Evolution. Title from "Broadripple is Burning!" by Margot & The Nuclear So And So's.
> 
> Here's a [link](https://twitter.com/legendtripperb/status/1253512944660480000) to me singing the second half, where the title comes from.
> 
> Also, here's an accompanying [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/02YSXFY1ZoOIMNnOnv7kN4?si=oHHN-NhjREGha3wyX6YnSQ).

“Detective Reed?” Nines gingerly raps his knuckles against the doorframe of Gavin’s office, startling the tired detective within.

“Fuck off,” Gavin grumbles, burying his face in his arms. The lights are dim, and the angry red display of the clock Nines had snuck onto his desk years ago reads 2:37 a.m. _Too late._

“It’s time to go, Detective,” Nines says softly, leaning against Gavin’s desk. He indicates the stacks of paper strewn across the desk, evidence bags and tablets scattered sporadically throughout. “All of this will still be here in the morning.”

Gavin mumbles something nearly indiscernible through the layers of fabric, but Nines’s audio sensors can pick out a stray _fuck you_ and _I’ll go home when I want to_ and _sleep when I’m dead._

Nines rests a hand on Gavin’s back. “Get up, Detective. Or must I carry you home slung over my shoulder?”

The echoes of one of their early conversations are not lost on Gavin.

“How much you got up in that brain of yours, anyway?”

“Pick your head up off your desk and I’ll tell you.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Tin Can,” Gavin says, but he _does_ haul himself up with a groan.

With the lights like this, it’s clear how much Gavin has aged since they met. His face is weathered, fine lines criss crossing it like a map. Small white scars dot his cheeks, and a gnarled mass of flesh sits where his ear used to be. (Unfortunate side effect of a bullet that narrowly missed the rest of his face. Nines thanks every deity he knows of—and due to his HUD, he knows them all—that it had not been a mere few centimeters to the left.) The same stubble he's always had is thicker, unkempt. (Though that could be a side effect of the severity of this case.) His dark curly hair is peppered with gray, and while Gavin gripes and pretends to hate it, Nines can’t help but think it makes him look sophisticated. Proper. Not at all like the man he used to know, a bitter and disgruntled misanthrope with a pension for indulging in worryingly destructive vices.

No, this Gavin is different. Kinder. More understanding.

_The one Nines loves._

“You scannin’ me again?” Gavin quips, throwing on his jacket. “Thought I told you to knock it off.”

The ghost of a smile crosses Nines’s face.

“No,” he says simply, leaning against the doorframe. “Just admiring the man I love.”

Gavin chokes on nothing, and Nines resists the urge to run over and make sure he’s okay. This sort of thing is old hat by now.

“ _Nines_ ,” Gavin wheezes, holding a hand to his chest. “You can’t just _say_ things like that.”

“Oh, but I can,” Nines says smugly, offering an arm for Gavin to take. “And it’s not my fault your lungs have deteriorated so much. If anything, you’re reaping what you’ve sown.”

Gavin snorts. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’ll kill me.”

“You know, there have been some studies published recently about reversing the effects of smoking,” Nines notes, flipping the last of the light switches. “Some new treatments? I can look into it for you.”

Gavin huffs darkly, swiping his key card to lock the door.

“Tell you what, Nines. If this job doesn’t kill me first, book me an appointment.”

Nines frowns. “Your blatant disregard for your own health is rather worrisome, Detective.”

“Well, that’s why I got you,” Gavin teases, neatly slotting his arm into the crook of Nines’s elbow.

“Now let’s get a move on.”

Even on a good night, Gavin and Nines are the last to leave the office, but in the thick of a case, they’re lucky if they vacate the premises before the final bus of the evening. As it stands, they have one more to catch.

Nines can hardly remember when they started taking the bus rather than walking. Just that, one day, it became clear the trip was too much for Gavin’s knees, and the next, without any further discussion, the two of them found themselves turning north after work, marking out a new space for their lives underneath the glass of the nearest bus stop.

They walk in silence for a while, Nines cataloguing the pattern of lights along their journey. (There’s a highrise nearby. There are four more lights on in the whole building than yesterday.) Gavin, meanwhile, breathes deeply, inhaling the night air with a surprising gluttony. Nines supposes he can understand—the office must get rather stuffy—but it’s such a _human_ gesture that he can’t help but marvel at it.

The night is dark, surprisingly brisk for April. Nines wonders vaguely if he should have brought a hat, if only so he could jam it on Gavin’s head, but Gavin startles him out of his thoughts before he can so much as ask if he’s cold. (Not like he’d get an honest answer anyway, Gavin’s far too stubborn for that.)

“Why do you do that, Nines?”

Nines furrows his brow, startled out of his thoughts. “Do what?”

“The whole …” Gavin gestures idly with his right hand, an unconscious action only Nines will ever be fully aware of. “You know, the ‘Detective Reed’ thing.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” Nines says, noting the sound of a distant car wreck, calling it in before he’s even aware he had dialed.

“Why do you still call me ‘Detective’? I mean, I’d say it’s just an office professionalism thing, but you still use it when no one else is around, so …” Gavin stuffs his hands further into his pockets, carefully avoiding Nines’s gaze. “I guess I was just curious. Sorry. Stupid question.”

“Gavin, it’s not stupid. I just …” Nines is speechless for one of the first times in his life. “I don’t know.”

“Haha, very funny. Now what is it?”

“Gavin, _I don’t know_.”

This seems to get Gavin’s attention. He stops in his tracks.

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

Gavin’s face twitches as he mulls over the new information, before he starts walking again.

“I should get some sort of award,” he says. “First person to ask an all-knowing android a question they don’t know the answer to.”

Nines chuckles. “Gavin, I am in no way omniscient. You just … surprised me, is all.”

“Well, glad to know I can still get the drop on you, even in my old age.”

“You’re only 47. That’s not old.”

“For you, maybe. You live for-fucking- _ever_ , you immortal asshole.”

“Yes,” Nines says, surprisingly distant. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

The silence that surrounds them is almost oppressive, and Nines feels the strongest urge to break it.

“I suppose it’s a sentimental thing,” Nines murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“The, as you call it, ‘Detective Reed’ thing.”

“What about it?”

Nines regards Gavin’s face under the light of a streetlamp.

“I’m saying, I suppose I do it due to the nostalgia. Like you and your propensity for calling me ‘Tin Can,’ or other such creative _noms de plumes_.”

“In English, please?” 

Nines sighs, a long-suffering but equally loving sound, casting his eyes up to the sky. _There’s_ his Gavin.

“It’s a nickname. A reminder of our first months of working together.”

Gavin laughs lightly, momentarily resting his head on Nine’s shoulder.

“Didn’t know you were such a _sap_ , Tin Can.”

“Please. You’ve been living with me for fifteen years, you should be used to this by now.”

“Damn. It’s been that long?” Gavin blinks rapidly, surprise written all over his face. “Wow.”

By this time, they’ve reached the bus stop, taking shelter under the glass just as a peal of thunder resounds through the city. The rain is soon to follow.

Gavin sighs, flexing the aching joints of his fingers. “How did we get here, Nines?” he muses. He sounds tired. “Seems like just yesterday you waltzed into the office, looking like the next issue of _Vogue: A_ and asking for a job.”

Nines presses a kiss to Gavin’s forehead, placing a soothing palm on his shoulder. Though still wiry and strong, Gavin has lost a considerable amount of muscle mass, and Nines is suddenly confronted with the prospect of Gavin aging without him, not for the first time.

In spite of this, he smiles. “You know, Detective, I’ve noticed time _does_ tend to pass without waiting for permission.”

“Yeah, Tin Can. I know,” Gavin says, bringing his hand up to rest on Nines’s, skin meeting stark white plastic in a display Nines had never quite gotten used to. “I just wish it wouldn’t pass so goddamn _quickly_. My mind’s still trying to catch up to being partnered up with you, while, out here in the real world, my body’s _well_ past its prime, and we’re fucking _married_! _Nines_! When the hell did _that_ happen?”

Nines snorts, though he does press a thumb to the simple metal band on his ring finger. “Well, _I_ think you look as good as the day I met you, Detective Reed.”

“You _hated_ me when we first met!”

“Now, we _both_ know that’s not true,” Nines says, rolling his eyes.

“Wh—” Gavin sputters, flailing his arms expansively. “What do you mean?”

Nines quirks a brow. Sarcasm is certainly something he’s gotten used to in his years of working with his partner.

Gavin opens his mouth to reply, before settling on quiet, the sound of the rain beating against the glass of the stop.

“Besides, I thought you didn’t care about all that.”

The sudden statement snaps Nines out of his reverie.

“About what?”

“About, you know …” Gavin gestures to his face with his thumb, a gesture Nines had noticed came out when he was stressed. “All this.”

Nines grins wryly. “Just because I don’t experience sexual attraction doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate what I see.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Gavin grumbles. “I hate you.”

Gavin knows what Nines will say next, and Nines _knows_ that he knows.

This is it. Their dance, their song, their heartbeat.

This is _them_.

 _I hate you_.

Nines brings Gavin’s forehead to his own, a long-practiced display of intimacy they have down to a science.

“You love me.”

Gavin smiles softly, pulling Nines in for a soft kiss.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, hesitating a moment before meeting Nines’s eyes.

“I do.”

At that moment, the bus rolls to a stop in front of them, providing a welcome shelter from the storm.

Gavin bumps his shoulder against Nines reassuringly, not-so-subtly using it as an excuse to slip his hand into Nines’ own. “Whaddya say, Tin Can?”

A memory from long ago resurfaces unexpectedly; the sound of a clamoring crowd, the feeling of Gavin’s grip on his wrist, leading him through hostile territory.

Nines gives Gavin’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Time to try not to get sappy.
> 
> This story was borne of a series of fortuitous events; namely, boredom, the timely arrival of [Detroit: Evolution](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apUn-YMMdZ8), and a spring cleaning session. Desperate for something to do, I quickly fell down the well of Detroit Evolution content. Shortly afterward, while cleaning my room, I found a letter I had written to myself awhile ago. I won't go into details, but in it, it contained the line "time does tend to pass without waiting for permission." And then I wrote.
> 
> This cast and crew has been nothing but incredible, and they have garnered a wonderfully supportive fandom, and I feel lucky to be able to witness it grow and mature. I have only nice things to say about the Octopunk family, but I won't say them here.
> 
> I hope you liked it.


End file.
